Poolhalls and Punishment
by wildblueyonder6
Summary: Characters:  John, Dean and Jamie Winchester.  Jamie!Verse.  John Dean & Jamie  OC  AU Jamie is in a trouble & Gramps is going to show him the error of his ways.  Not making any money.AN:  Never tried first person before.  Let me know if it works okay?


Title: Pool Halls and Punishment  
>Author: Wildblueyonder<br>Genre: Gen, PG 13 for language  
>Characters: John, Dean and Jamie Winchester. Jamie!Verse.<br>Summary: Jamie is in a trouble and Gramps is going to show him the error of his ways. Not making any : Never tried first person before. Let me know if it works okay?

I would like to think that the predicament I was in was something I could have avoided. It would be true of course. All I needed to do was follow the rules and pay attention to what I needed to do but just like everything else in my life, it is complicated.

See, I have three parents. That sounds crazy I guess but it is what it is. There is my dad, my uncle and my grandfather. All three of them take a hands on approach to parenting. They have no problem whaling on my ass if they think the situation warrants it. Don't get me wrong, they aren't mean or anything, it's just that Dad and Uncle Sam were raised by Gramps and Gramps is pretty old fashioned when it comes to crime and punishment.

It is a family tradition I guess.

Having three parents though, means that I have three different philosophies on parenting. True, they all agree that any of them can spank me whenever they want but all three have different triggers. So instead of having a united front of two parents who agree on what is appropriate - my own personal "triple threat" all think differently.

Dad is pretty cool about me mouthing off. Sometimes, I can see him barely keeping the laughter in when I say something a little off color. He doesn't care too much if I do well in school, I mean if I was to bring home an F, I suppose he would be pissed but he is okay with average grades. But he can't stand when I do something stupid and dangerous. I am sure that I will find my self, ass over tea kettle getting my butt warmed if he thinks it will make me think twice about doing something dumb.

Uncle Sam? He can't stand when I goof off at school. He expects A's on everything. He is not a dictator, but he knows I am smart enough to get A's so he expects A's. Uncle Sam takes my education seriously. Very seriously. So not meeting academic expectations? That could find me sitting uncomfortably for a day or so.

Then there is Gramps. He has a problem with disrespect. If he feels I have disrespected an adult in any way shape or form, well, let's just say it is not in my best interest to do that. Sometimes, I can make pretty after a less then respectful remark if I kick up the yes, sirs and no, sirs and show how absolutely sorry I am for acting like a bitch. I think it is the Marine in him. He figures that being polite never hurt anybody. Even when my Gramps was hunting a lot with my uncle and father, he tried to impress upon his boys that bucking authority, while necessary at times, was something to be done only after careful scrutiny of the situation.

So based on all of this information, you can see why I sometimes have trouble keeping myself out of hot water. I have a lot of different balls to juggle and sometimes I just can't defy gravity. I suppose the case could be made that if I watched my Ps and Qs and kept my grades up and was polite and basically was a stepford boy, well then my ass would be safe and sound on a routine basis.

But I am a Winchester.

'Nuff said.

So, it depends on whose watch I am when I get in trouble as to how much trouble any given situation will give me.

That and who happens to tell whom what first.

See, I live in a small, very small town. Everyone knows everyone. I deliver the paper to my English teacher. My best friend's dad is the Sheriff and local volunteer fire department? Let's just say that my family has a stake in fires. My town is AWARE of me.

And if Mrs. Markum feels that I have been disrespectful, she has no problem picking up the phone and calling my house. Mr. Baker has been known to grab my Dad on the way to the hardware store and tell him about some misdeed that I was a part of. Old Lady Crawford (and no, I do not call her that to her face) has nabbed Uncle Sam at the library and described at length a conversation that I had with some of my friends that involved a lot of four letter words.

Basically, I am fucked.

Now you might also think that because I have such a diverse parents that I might be inclined to manipulate them at any given time.

You would be right.

I am a kid and I am not so proud to say that I will do whatever I can to protect my lilly white ass from becoming red. So, if Dad is watching me, I am more inclined to get a little mouthy, if Uncle Sam is watching, well, I make damn sure I turn in every homework assignment. Catch the drift? I don't really think of it as manipulation so much as self-preservation.

But what does the book say? "The Best Laid Plans." Which is exactly why I am sitting in my room waiting for Gramps.

Dad was supposed to be home with me today, but he and Uncle Sam left for a last minute to drive up to Dallas to meet some guy about a book that Uncle Bobby has been looking for. Why they both needed to go, I couldn't say. I didn't know that Gramps was the sole Winchester at home - my afternoon plans were based on Dad being here, not Gramps. You can't blame me for adjusting my daily activities based on which parent will be home at any given time. That was just smart. Well, except for when it isn't smart.

There is no doubt in my mind that my grandfather is gonna kill me this afternoon. If I thought I could run, I would run. I am not a coward but Gramps wields a hellacious belt. I usually do anything I can to avoid it, which is exactly why Gramps lickings are so effective. I can't hide either, my grandfather has hunted things a lot more difficult than a 14-year-old boy. All I can do is sit on the edge of my bed and bounce my leg with nervous energy. I can hear him rustling downstairs.

Did I mention that Gramps is the master of psychological discipline? He knows I am waiting, knows he is gonna kick my ass, but wants me to think through my transgressions and get myself bent out of shape.

In short, he wants me sweating bullets.

He does know his grandson.

Gramps taps once on the door to my bedroom and then enters. His face looks grim. I take a deep breath and try not to let it show how scared he makes me. I love my Gramps, I do, but when he looks like that I know I am in for it.

"So, Gramps. How is it going?" Okay, so it is a stupid opening line but I don't think well under pressure.

"Well, it would be better if I was not just subjected by a play by play on how my grandson provoked a brawl at the local pool hall."

I roll my eyes. Another not so bright move from yours truly. "I think that brawl is rather strong word, Gramps. I think that a lively discussion regarding the merits of self defense would be closer to the truth."

Gramps huffs in a way that shows how little he really believes what I am saying.

"What were you doing playing pool anyway? Weren't you supposed to come home right after school? "

I grimaced because Gramps was right, I had chores to do and Thursday was my day to muck the barn. "Well, yes, sir but Butch O'Malley made me a wager and well, I have Winchester pride, Gramps." I was hoping to bring out Gramps' family unity.

No such luck.

"Butch O'Malley is nineteen and as worthless a boy I have never known. And wagering in a pool hall? Damn it, Jamie – we don't do that unless we need to and you know there is no gambling for 14 year olds. Plus, I know for a fact that Denny Parker makes sure that his pool hall is run clean. Denny said that you had some smart assed comments to make when he told you to knock off the gambling and hit the road. And then you found it necessary to keep up the verbal tirade after the fight.

"Well, he tried to impress upon me that gamblin' was not in my best interest, but beating Butch? Well that just had to happen, Gramps. And then when Butch decided he didn't like getting his ass kicked by a kid, well, I just naturally had to show him the error of his ways. I can't help the boy has the coordination of a one winged owl. And me and Mr. Parker, well I wasn't trying to be a smart ass, I just got a little emotional, that's all." I tried for conversational. I was hoping that Gramps would see where I was coming from.

"So, you didn't come straight home. You went to Denny's, gambled against a moron, got in a fight over said gambling and then mouthed off to Denny. Is that pretty much how it went down this afternoon, Jamie?"

Gramps wasn't yelling, but he very seldom had to. My Gramps could just drop his voice and rumble. It was pretty damn scary 

"Jamie, I asked you a question." Now came the rumble, low and ominous.

I ran through my afternoon. Missed chores, gambled, fought, opened my big mouth to Denny Parker. Yeah, Gramps had nailed it all

"Well, when you say it like that, Gramps, it sounds kinda bad." I tried not to sound pissy. Gramps hates pissy.

"It sounds bad, Jamie 'cause it is bad. What the hell were you thinking? "

"I dunno, I wasn't I guess." Which is not the right answer for Gramps but it would be far worse to say. _ I was thinking that you wouldn't be home this afternoon and I figured I could talk Dad out of an ass whoopin'._

Nope, it was far better to fuck up on a whim than to fuck up pre-meditatively.

It didn't matter though, my ass was grass.

Gramps shook his head. "Okay, kiddo, drop the jeans and shorts."

I didn't want to, but not following his orders would be far worse and it wasn't like I didn't know it was coming. Gramps usually spanked bare-assed. So I shuck my jeans and boxers. I always hated this. Standing there buck-naked waiting to be whacked. Then there is that sinking lower belly feeling. Not a good feeling at all, sort of like you are going to hurl but not really. The tight knot hard in my gut complements my ass clenching in anticipation. Dad said that feeling was a was guilty conscious but I didn't buy that. I attribute the belly – butt thing to terror.

Gramps never keeps you waiting long, though. A quick tip and I am over his lap and his belt is kissing my ass.

Every time I find my self up ended over another Winchester I swear it ain't ever happening again. Still, I must be dumber than a rat. I mean that, because if a rat gets shocked enough times, it stops choosing the shocking path in the maze and starts choosing the path with the cheese. Me? I just don't have that figured out yet.

Dumber than a rat.

So Gramps lays it on heavy and thick. Each stripe blazing across my previously white ass. I yelp and holler, Gramps doesn't care. He knows I won't wiggle off his lap because jumping off means more licks. I don't want to cry. The older I get the less I want that to happen, but it is inevitable, you can't take an ass whipping from Dad, or Uncle Sam or Gramps without crying. My family knows how to beat someone's ass.

In no time at all, I am begging forgiveness, offering my first-born, lying through my teeth, promising anything at all, anything that will stop the ass onslaught. And crying. Gramps doesn't seem to care.

"Gramps! I'm sorry! I, I promise, no more fighting. No more gambling. No more backtalk. Pulease."

"Don't promise what you don't intend to do, Jamie." Gramps continues.

"But I do, I do, I promise!

It is kind of embarrassing to beg but all I have to say is you try a trip over my Gramps hard knees and see what kind of shit you come up with.

Finally, Gramps decides I have been sufficiently chastised. He lets the belt fall and drops his hand to my upper back. I am sobbing and sniffling. I shudder hard.

Gramps hand feels warm on my back. It is kind of comfortable but I don't know if that is because it is not brandishing a belt.

"Easy, kiddo." Gramps voice is low but he isn't growling. It is warm and deep. As angry as my grandfather's voice was a few minutes ago, it is just as gentle now.

"C'mon, Jamie. Get yourself together and come on downstairs when you are up to it. You still have the barn to clean and I have dinner to make."

Gramps leaves and I lay on the bed. I have pulled up my boxers just because laying half naked on my bed is not something I choose to do. The soft cotton burns against the blazing heat of my butt. I want nothing better than to take a nap. But Gramps is right, the stalls need mucking and I don't want to get on anyone else's bad side.

The night is long and monotonous. Even Gramps' fried chicken does little to make me feel better. I hit they hay early, crawl into bed and try to not to think of my well-spanked ass.

Later that night, Dad comes into see me.

"Hey kiddo, you doin' alright?"

I am laying on my belly in my room. It is dark but I am not sleeping. My ass hurts too much to sleep.

"No, Dad. I'm not. Gramps almost killed me tonight." I sniffle once, more for effect than anything else.

"Yeah, well, I know how you feel, buddy. Gramps is pretty intense when he gets riled up." Dad sits on my bed, the weight of his body rolling my body toward him when the mattress compresses.

He cards his hands through my hair. I should feel totally like a girl, but I don't. Dad can be just as hard as his father, but right now he is gentle. It feels good.

"So, Jamie, how'd this all go down this afternoon. What happened?"

"Dumb move on my part, Dad. I just wasn't thinking is all." I really don't want my dad to leave but I am tired too. "I just wanna get some sleep."

"Sure, Jamie, get some rest." Dad stands and walks to the bedroom door. Before the narrow light of the hallway inches toward darkness he stops, his hand on the doorknob.

"Hey, kid. Next time. Make sure I'm really gonna be home. Just text me or something." Dad grins and shuts the door all the way.

Well damn, I guess I am not as smart as I thought. Dumber than a rat is right.

end


End file.
